Page 2 of Dark Masquerade
“Sweet one, let me call your workplace—where do you work?”
. “Il Mondo Italia,” she rasped. “We’re a ...”
“Magazine, yes I know,” he said, grinning. “I’m a subscriber.”
“You are?”
He laughed. “Of course. And as you are Elliana, you must be Elliana Moretti. Your work is the reason I subscribe.”
She gaped at him. “That’s not true.”
“Hand on my heart. Hi, Elliana Moretti …I’m Aldo Constanza.”
Vivienne Marche’s eyes grew huge as she saw her best friend and top journalist, Elli, complete with a bandage wrapped around her head and a bruised, pale face, being escorted into the magazine’s offices by Aldo Constanza. Ordinarily, any unexpected appearance by Aldo would have been cause for scrambling in the office, but Vivienne presently had no interest in anything but her friend.
“Elli!” She jumped out of her seat and rushed around to carefully embrace the woman who she called sister. “What happened?”
Aldo greeted her warmly before Elli could say anything. “Vivienne, how wonderful to see you again. This little one insisted on bringing me today, despite her accident. Elli, please sit down before you fall down.”
“Accident? What accident?” Vivienne demanded, easing Elli into a seat and hovering beside her.
“She only just missed being struck by a car,” Aldo explained. “Her head took the brunt of her narrow escape.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” exclaimed Vivienne in horror, very nearly pulling Elli into a bearhug before realizing she might have other, unseen injuries. She contented herself instead with taking Elli’s hand and holding onto it tightly.
Aldo nodded at the head bandage. “She was indisposed.”
“The pavement has a dent in it,” Elli joked wearily. “No major damage done to this hard head.”
In spite of her attempt at lightheartedness, Vivienne could see the embarrassment in Elli’s eyes. She pressed Elli’s fingers as Aldo continued. “She has a severe concussion, and I think she should have gone straight home from the hospital, but she insisted on bringing me here.”
Vivienne’s heart warmed. That was just like Elli. She pressed her lips to Elli’s temple. “You are a peach,” she said. “But I’m sending you home right now, El. I’ll arrange a cab.”
“No, please. I insist my driver take her home.” Aldo was firm, and so in a few minutes, Vivienne was tucking Elli into the warm backseat of Aldo Constanza’s limousine, lingering worriedly in the door to admonish,
“You take as long as you need, El. I don’t want you back until you’re well.”
Elli smiled gratefully at her. “I’m so sorry about this, Viv.”
“Don’t be silly.” Vivienne leaned in closer, “If anything, you’ve broken the ice with Constanza …it’s just a shame you had to do it with your head.”
Elli chuckled at her boss’s grin. “Anything to help, boss.”
It turned out billionaires were fussbudgets. Or, at least, this one was. Aldo Costanza insisted on carrying Elli upstairs. She barely had time to deal with the flare of heat, this time all through her body, before he was unlocking her door and asking where her bedroom was. It was too surreal, being tucked into her bed by a handsome billionaire, all the while her head spinning.
She half expected him to take a seat beside her bed and sit some kind of guard as she slept, but instead, he apologized profusely, saying he had a meeting he couldn’t rearrange, but that he would check up on her soon. After more passionate apologies, he finally left, but not before making sure she had water, aspirin, and a phone within arm’s reach.
Once he was gone, Elli lay in bed for a long while, but couldn’t sleep. The exhaustion was there, but it warred with her ever-active mind. Even a concussion couldn’t stop Elli from overthinking things. She crawled out from under the covers that Aldo had fastidiously tucked around her, cranked up the heat, and made herself some tea—some kind of blend Vivienne said was good for relaxing. By the time the water boiled, her legs were wobbly and she was glad to curl up on the couch with her favorite blanket, listening to the wind outside her windows.
Her apartment was tiny, but she didn’t care about that—the view from the windows over Venice’s Lagoon made it worth the squeeze. Resting her aching head against a pillow, she saw the ice and fog covering the gondoliers, jostling together at their moorings, the usually crowded streets almost empty. It would be Christmas soon, but if this weather held up, it would be a subdued event. Elli liked to walk the streets at night during the festive period—being alone in the world had never bothered her much. She would eat food from street vendors and soak in the atmosphere, thinking about her mother who had died when Elli was only eighteen. Her father had been long gone; Elli didn’t even know who or where he was. And her older brother, Enzo, had died the year previously from the same cancer that took their mother.
Sadness touched Elli as Enzo filled her mind. Nearly a decade older, he had been her hero—companion, teacher, protector—or at least, he had taught her how to protect herself. He had been an architect, designing some of the most beautiful hotels in Italy with his best friend, Indio. The sadness that Enzo’s memory always brought Elli was gently sidelined by a warm rush through her veins when she thought suddenly of Indio.
Indio Navaro had been her first crush—her first love. She closed her eyes now and thought of his dark curls, his swarthy caramel skin, and his bright green eyes. She remembered the first time she had seen him when she was just nine and he was eighteen. God, he had looked like an Adonis, so beautiful, with huge eyes, a perfectly symmetrical face, and a hard, toned body. No teenage acne or awkwardness for Indio, and even at her young age, Elli had known she would never again see such a beautiful man in her life. And he wasbeautiful—handsome wasn’t strong enough word for Indio Navaro—not just physically perfect, but the kindest, sweetest, strongest man she had ever known. For his part, Indio had stayed true to the code—never fool around with your best friend’s sister—but he had adored Elli too and would spend hours with her, even when Enzo wasn’t there. They were the moon and the sun to each other.
But then, when Elli was twenty, a couple of years after her mother had died, something had happened between Enzo and Indio—something neither of them would ever talk about—and when Indio had come to say goodbye to Elli, her heart had been broken.
“Please don’t go,” she had begged him. “I love you so much, Indio. I always have.”
